6.

7.

8.

Groan'd unimaginable thunders`; sounds,
Fearful and ominous, arose and died,

Like the sad mōanings of November's wind,

In the blank mīdnight. (l) Dēēpest hōrror chill'd
His blood that burn'd befōre; cold, clammy sweats
Came ō'er him; then anon, a fiery thrill

Shot through his veins. Now, at his couch he shrunk,
And shiver'd as in fear; now, upright leap'd,

As though he heard the battle trumpet sound,
And long'd to cope with death.

He slept, at last,

A troubl'd, dreamy sleep. Well had he slept
Never to waken more! His hours are few,
But terrible his agony.

Soon the storm

Burst forth; the lightenings glanc'd`; the air

Shook with the thunders. They awoke; they sprung
Amaz'd upon their feet.

The dungeon glow'd

A moment as in sunshine and was dark:

Again, a flood of white flame fills the cell,

Dying away upon the dazzl'd eye

In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound`
Dies throbbing, ringing in the ear.

With intensest awe,

The soldier's frame was fill'd; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind,
As underneath he felt the fever'd earth

Jarring and lifting; and the massive walls,

Heard harshly grate and strain: yet knew he not,

While evils undefin'd and yet to come

Glanc'd through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound
Fate had already` given. — Where`, man of woe ́!
Where, wretched father! is thy boy? Thou callest

His name in vain :- he can not answer thee.

9. Loudly the father call'd upon his child`:

No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously

He search'd their couch of straw`; with headlong haste
Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent,
Groped darkling on the earth:-nō child was there.
(h) Again he called: again, at farthest stretch
Of his accursed fetters, till the blood

Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes

10.

Fire flash'd, he strain'd with arm extended far,
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil!
Yet still renew'd: still round and round he goes,
And strains, and snatches, and with dreadful cries
Calls on his boy.

(hh) Mad frenzy fires him now:

He plants against the wall his feet; his chain
Grasps; tugs with giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple; yells and shrieks with rage:
And, like a desert lion in the snare,

Raging to break his toils,-to and fro bounds`.
(1) But see! the ground is opening`;—a blue light
Mounts, gently waving,-noiseless;-thin and cold
It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame;
But by its luster, on the earth outstretch'd,
Behold the lifeless child! his dress is sing'd,
And, o'er his face serene, a darken'd line
Points out the lightning's track.

11.

12.

(1) The father saw,

And all his fury fled`:-a dead calm fell

That instant on him:-speechless-fixed--he stood;
And with a look that never wander'd', gazed

Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes
Were not yet clos'd`,—and round those ruby lips
The wonted smile return'd`.

Silent and pale

The father stands :-no tear is in his eye":-
The thunders bellow;-but he hears them not":—
The ground lifts like a sea`; he knows` it not^:—
The strong walls grind and gape:-the vaulted roof
Takes shape like bubble tossing in the wind`;
See! he looks up and smiles`;-for death to him
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace

Be given', 't were still a sweeter thing to die.

13. It will be given. (h) Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near
Moves toward the father's outstretch'd arm his boy:
Once he has touch'd his garment:-how his eye
Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears^!
Ha! see! he has him now!—he clasps him round;
Kisses his face; puts back the curling locks,

That shaded his fine brow; looks in his eyes;
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands`;
(7) Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping; and resign'd, awaits
Undreaded death.

14. (7) And death came sōōn and swift,

And pangless. The huge pīle sänk dōwn at ōnce
Into the opening earth. Walls-arches-roof`—
And deep foundation stones-all-mingling-fell!

ALTERED FROM SHAKSPEARE.

SCENE I-Camp before Florence.

Enter COUNT ROSENCRANTZ, the captain of horse in the Duke of Florence's army, and CAPT. DUMAIN and his brother, two officers under the Count.

1st Capt. Dumain. Nay, good, my lord, try him. If your lordship find him not a knave, take me henceforth for a fool. 2d Capt. Dumain. On my life, my lord', he is a mere bubble.

Count Rosencrantz. Do you think I am so far deceived in him?

1st. Capt. D. Believe it, my lord. To my certain knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as gently as if he were my kinsman, he's a notorious coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, and the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's respect.

2d Capt D. It is important that you should understand him, lest, reposing too far in a virtue, which he hath not, he might, on some important occasion, in some pressing danger, fail you.

Count R. I would I knew in what particular action to try him.

2d Capt. D. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you heard him so confidently undertake to do.

1st Capt. D. I ́, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him. I will have men whom, I am sure, he knows

not from the enemy. We will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose he is carried into the enemy's camp, when we bring him to our tents. Be but your lordship present at the examination; if he do not, for the promise of his life, and under the compulsion of base fear, villify us all, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing.

2d Capt. D. O for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't. When your lordship sees the up-shot of this affair, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your partiality is indeed beyond the influence of reason. Here he comes.

Enter DELGRADO.

1st Capt. D. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the humor of his design; let him fatch off his drum, any how. Count R. How now`, Monsieur? This drum sticks sorely in your disposition.

2d Capt. D. Hang it, let it go; 'tis but a drum.

Delgrado. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so

lost!

2d Capt. D. It was a disaster of war that Cesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command.

Count R. Well`, we have reason to be satisfied with our success. Some dishonor we had in the loss of that drum ́, but it is not to be recovered.

Del. It might have been recovered.

Count R. It might, but it is not now.

Del. It is to be recovered; but that the merit of service is seldom attached to the real performer, I would have that` drum or another', or hic jacet.

if

Count. R. Why, if you have a stomach to 't, Monsieur ́, you think your skill in stratagem can recover this instrument of honor, be magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on. I will do honor to the attempt as a worthy exploit. If you speed well in it, the Duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost extent of your merit.

Del. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.

Count R. But you must not now slumber in it.

Del. I'll about it this evening. I will contrive my plans`, prepare myself for the encounter, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me.

Count R. I know thou art valiant. Farewell!

Del. I love not many words.

[Exit.

1st Capt. D. No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently undertakes this business, which he knows is not to be done?

2d Capt. D. You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's favor, and for a week escape discovery`; but when you find him out, you have him ever after.

Count R. Why, do you think he will make no attempt at the deed, which he so boldly and seriously promises?

1st Capt. D. None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three plausible lies; but we have almost encompassed him; you shall see him fall to night; for, indeed, he is not worthy of your lordship's confidence.

[Exeunt.

Enter 1st CAPTAIN DUMAN, with five or six soldiers in ambush. 1st Capt. D. He can come no other way but by this hedge corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him; but some one among us must be an interpreter.

1st Soldier. Good Captain, let me be the interpreter.

1st Capt. D. Are you not acquainted with him? Knows he not your voice?

1st Sold. No, sir, I warrant you.

1st Capt. D. But what linsey-woolsey have you to speak to us again?

1st Sold. Even such as you speak to me.

1st Capt. D. He must think us some band of strangers in the enemy's army. Now, he hath a smack of all neighboring languages; therefore we must all gabble, each after his own fancy; so we seem to know what we say, is to know straight to our purpose. As for you, interpreter, you must